


Have a Little Faith in Me

by DevinBourdain



Series: Kingdom Fall [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Holidays, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:20:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7142315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevinBourdain/pseuds/DevinBourdain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam wait for John to return home for the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have a Little Faith in Me

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Supernatural characters are not mine, just borrowed for this story.
> 
> Reviews are always welcome and appreciated

John leaned against the cold brick of the building, blinking back the darkness that had been floating at the edge of his vision since he got up close and personal with the jagged end of a piece of rebar. The spirit had been a particularly nasty one, far more than he had been prepared for. The fact that there were two separate and unrelated ghosts haunting the youth camp had complicated an already disastrous hunt.

The job should only have taken three days, that was four days ago and now it was Christmas Eve morning. He pressed his hand tighter against his side, staggering back to the Impala. Warm blood rolled between his fingers, slicking is hands. The world was beginning to swim as he fumbled for his keys; hand slipping across the door handle as he painted it with blood. The back door opened with a protesting creak and John flopped inside.

A sharp hiss escaped his lips as he blindly fumbled for the first aid kit. The darkness was over taking his vision; his limbs getting rubbery and heavy. Maybe if he just rested his eyes for a couple of seconds he could find the strength to patch up the hole in his gut and drive to get some help.

* * *

The tiny mall was all abuzz; tidal waves of people filling every possible space. Dean gripped Pastor Jim's hand tighter so as to not get sucked into the ebb and flow of the crowd. They finally reached their destination and Dean peered around the mass of people, getting his first glimpse of the massive snake formation of people in line to see Santa. It didn't seem like they were ever going to get to the front.

Sam let out a yawn, snuggling further in to Jim's shoulder. Dean peered up and gave his brother a reassuring smile. Dean had gone to see Santa once with mom and dad. The fire happened the next year and Christmas kind of skipped that winter. The following year they didn't have a tree but the nice lady that ran the restaurant below the apartment they were renting had them down for dinner. Last year they had a small affair with takeout and a string of lights in a motel they stopped at when the snow storm made it too hard to drive.

Pastor Jim had offered to take the boys to see Santa the day John had dropped them off but things had come up and Jim had been busy and next thing anyone knew it was Christmas Eve and Santa was going to be leaving the mall soon to go and start his present deliveries soon. Dean had agreed to the idea more so for Sammy's sake. It would be the first time the three year old would get to see Santa. Dean hadn't anticipated the large crowds that seemed to make Sam nervous, especially when dad wasn't around, or the late hour of their visit.

Dean tugged at Jim's coat sleeve. He waited until the man leaned over to say, "We don't have to see Santa this year. It's late and you have to set up for tomorrow."

Jim smiled, ruffling Dean's mop of hair. "We're almost to the front of the line and it'd be a shame to have driven all the way here and not gotten to see the big guy."

An eternity passed, each step closer a monumental triumphant. Sam had succumb to sleep somewhere between the jewellery store and the white picket fence marking the start of Santa's winter wonderland. By the time they got to the front of the line, Dean's feet were ready to admit defeat.

Gently he patted Sam's leg. "Hey Sammy, time to wake up. It's our turn to see Santa."

Sam's eyes fluttered open as he blearily glanced around. "Santa?" he mumbled shyly before burying his face back in the crock of Jim's neck.

"Yep, there he is," assured Dean cheerfully.

A young woman dressed in an elf costume greeted the boys with a big smile, taking their hands as Jim placed Sam down on his feet. Sam recoiled at the stranger, hiding behind Jim's leg.

"It's okay Sammy." Dean took the elf's hands, extending his own for Sam, offering to be the barrier between him and the stranger. Reluctantly Sam took his brother's hand, shuffling behind Dean as they came to stand before the man himself.

Dean had to help Sam crawl up on the red guy's lap, quickly taking Santa's other knee as a look of trepidation washed over his little brother. Santa let out a huge belly laugh, causing Sam to latch on to Dean.

"What's your name little boy?" asked Santa, turning his attention towards Sam.

Sam bit his lip, shaking his head furiously.

"His name's Sam," informed Dean. He didn't want Sam to blow his chance at Christmas because he was too tired and too shy. "He wants a pound puppy for Christmas this year."

"A pound puppy, is that so?" The man's voice was deep but warm. Sam cautiously nodded his head. "That's sounds like a good toy to me." He let Sam slip off his lap as the boy began to squirm, running back to Jim who was waiting off to the side with a sparkle in his eye.

Santa turned to the older boy still sitting on his knee. "And what's your name son?"

"Dean, sir."

"And what do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?"

Dean chewed on his lip as he thought long and hard. The more reasonable request would be the GI Joe he had seen in the toy store window back in Phoenix but this was his one Christmas wish, might as well go for the thing he wanted most in the world, no matter how unlikely. Barely more than a whisper he said, "I want dad to be home for Christmas."

* * *

A slight tremble ran through John's body as an icy chill pierced the veil of darkness that had consumed him. Slowly he cracked his eyes, feeling the ache burning in his side. The weird splatter shape on the roof of the Impala swirled and wiggled as his muddled brain tried to figure out just what the hell the boys had managed to spill up there. _The boys_. The latest hunt finally snapped into place and he struggled to pull himself into a sitting position. Everything that could go wrong had, and here he was slowly bleeding to death, passed out in the car while his boys were waiting for his return.

The red stain on his shirt had grown since he stumbled to the vehicle, his attempt to bandage it, having failed. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pried the lid of the first aid kit open with one hand; the other keeping painful pressure on the ragged hole punctured in his side. The rebar must have missed anything important or he wouldn't have been around to try and patch himself up now. It was slow going, but he managed to do a passable repair job; it would hold until he could get to Pastor Jim.

His legs were stiff and cold, being exposed to the fresh snow falling outside the Impala. He shook his feet, clearing the snow as he pulled himself out of the car. Streaks of pink and purple lined the horizon as daylight began to kiss night; he lost a whole afternoon. Christmas Eve was coming to a close and he still had a long drive. Keeping a hand on the car he shakily moved to the front door. It hurt sliding in behind the wheel but he wasn't going to be deterred.

The engine roared to life and John settled in for the ride. With one hand on the wheel he used the other to pop open a bottle of painkillers and dry swallowed a couple. The sleek black Impala cut through the softly falling snow as it made it's Christmas run back to the boys.

* * *

Sam ran around the empty cafeteria, arms spread wide making airplane noises as he buzzed around on his nonstop flight to burn off the built up energy from sitting in the car for hours. He ran circles around the table Dean had plopped his self down at, not letting his brother's glum attitude deter the wonders of the open space of the soup kitchen.

Dean kept his eyes on Sam as the three year old spun around with childish glee, to pretend he wasn't actually listening to his father and Pastor Jim talk about the latest job. It was a week before Christmas and John had caught wind of another job near Pastor Jim's. Dean knew John's work was important and he did like staying with Jim but the holidays were upon them. It was also the first year Sammy was actually getting excited about the prospect of a Christmas tree, stockings and Santa, and if Dean was being honest, he'd missed all those things the last couple of years.

"Oooff," grunted John as Sam slammed into his leg as he ran past. John grabbed the toddler by the waste hoisting him up. "Slow down there Sammy."

Sam giggled and squirmed trying to get free. "Down Daddy."

"Hey, listen to me." John held on tighter, getting his youngest to focus on him. "Dad's going to work for a couple of days and Pastor Jim's going to be looking after you boys." Sam nodded studiously. "I want you to mind your manners and not cause trouble." Satisfied he did his due diligence at trying to convince a three year old to behave, he set the bundle of energy back on the ground.

"They're always a joy to have around," assured Pastor Jim.

"Yeah, I'm sure." John had a pretty good idea Jim let his boys get away with murder whenever he left them in his care. When it wasn't Jim, he was certain it was the Sister teaching grade one and two at the church run school and the after school care program, that delighted in spoiling his boys rotten. Dean had that effect on women and Sam had these puppy dog eyes that should be registered as lethal weapons.

"Dean," he called, not surprised at all as his son begrudgingly trudged over. Dean had been mopey since they left Phoenix. They had been there for eight months, long enough for Dean to finish kindergarten and start the first grade; enough time for the boys to actually make friends and connections. Staying wasn't a safe option anymore, so John had loaded them up and headed towards the promise of a new job.

Dean stood in front of his father, looking longingly at the ground. "Yes, sir," he whispered, already knowing what his father planed to tell him.

"You're going to stay here with Pastor Jim while I go and take care of this job. I want you to be on your best behaviour and take care of Sammy, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

John ruffled Dean's hair, ignoring the complete lack of enthusiasm coming from his oldest. He knew this holiday was important. It was the first time both boys could really enjoy it; Sam old enough to understand and participate completely and the pain and loss of Mary finally dulled enough for Dean to take some joy in the holiday. There was a job, innocent lives at stake and John couldn't just ignore that. A spirit had been killing people at a local youth camp, one used by the community for year round events. It was closed for the next couple of days before opening for Christmas sleigh rides and snow sculpting competitions, giving John a chance to work without witnesses and potential victims before the feeding grounds repopulated themselves.

"Will you be back for Christmas?" asked Dean, his voice soft but hopeful.

John kneeled down in front of his son. "Job should only take three days, four tops. Plenty of time to get back for Christmas."

Dean looked a little more hopeful. "You promise?"

"I promise dude. There ain't anything that's going to stop me from getting back here before Santa."

* * *

Sam sat at the kitchen table, legs swinging wildly on the high stool. He took a giant lick of icing from the cookie he was trying to decorate, eyes lighting up in delight as the sugary taste melted over his tongue. The smears of wayward icing looked like war paint splattered across his face while sprinkles dotted every clear space on the table.

Pastor Jim sighed affectionately. It had seemed like such a simple idea at the start; get the boys to help decorate Christmas cookies to hand out at the soup kitchen tomorrow night. Looking at the mess compared to the amount of finished product , he seriously doubted Sam's future employment would ever include working in a bakery or a factory.

Jim looked through to the living room, where the oldest Winchester had been perched since returning from the mall. It was past Sam's bed time but boys were starting to get antsy about their father's lack of appearance combined with the excitement of the impending holiday making going to bed a near impossibility. It was Christmas, that was the excuse he would use for bring out cookies. "Dean, why don't you come help us? Sammy says they're really yummy."

Never taking his eyes away from the window he said, "Nah, that's alright." The snow had started falling when they left Santa, gentled at first but now the wind was picking up and the snowflakes were getting thicker and bigger. It was easily past his knees now and there was no sign of the storm passing. It would be a winter wonderland tomorrow, enough snow to go sledding, build a fort and launch and epic snowball fight with dad, if he ever made it home.

John had promised he would be back for Christmas and Dean shuddered at all the reasons that would force his father to break his word. That train of thought bled into what would he tell Sammy if dad wasn't coming back? What would happen to them? It wasn't like they had any family to speak of, just the three of them. What was Dean going to do if it became just the two of them? Dad had been training him to fight, to be prepared and skilled in fighting the bad thing that threatened to destroy their little family but he was nowhere near ready to do it on his own, to keep Sammy safe without dad there to protect them.

He glanced at the clock. Its big hands seemed to mock him as they proudly ticked another minute away. At this point Dean would settle for a phone call, promise be damned, if he could just know that dad was alright, that there would be someone to open the horrifically wrapped package under the tree at some point. "Where are you dad?" he whispered.

* * *

John slammed against the door as the Impala slid around the corner. The impact with his side sent a wave of pain shooting through him. It was enough to fight back the exhaustion that was trying to dull his senses, trying sway him to just lay down and give up. He needed to stay sharp, the snow was thick; the headlights of the car cutting only a couple of feet in front of him. He needed to keep going; he had to boys counting on him.

Another corner came, and John felt the tires spin and pull in the wrong direction. It was a double edged sword, to slow down was to risk getting stuck in the storm but the speed made it easier for the snow to throw him around. He continued pressing on into the night, his determination made of the same steel as the Impala.

John ate up the miles like the snow was eating up the road. He needed the victory tonight. After a hunt that had thrown every curve ball imaginable, escaping by the skin of his teeth he needed something to go smoothly. The latest hunt notwithstanding, John knew he had to make it home for Christmas. As parent, he was aware he'd been dropping the ball lately. Knowledge was power and he needed to learn everything he could from whoever would share hunting information with him if he was going to keep his family safe. Unfortunately that meant spending more time away from his kids. It also meant uprooting them more than any father should.

He knew Dean had wanted to finish out the school year at his last school and John would have loved nothing more than to make that happen. But the latest scare had him running as far and as fast as he could from Phoenix. He had told Dean there weren't any more jobs in the area, that there were some close to Blue Earth. He figured the chance to stay with Murphy for a couple of days would help soften the blow of leaving.

The truth was one of the witched in the coven John had been hunting was a substitute teacher at Dean's school and she had figured out the quickest way to get to John would be to get his son. John had managed to gank her before she laid a hand on Dean but someone getting so close to one of his boys was enough to send John running. Not to mention the fact that he technically murdered a member of staff in the supply closet; he wasn't going to be explaining that one to Child Protective Services.

Mary had always been the one to see to the little touches, the things that made a home and John still hadn't figured out how to do that. The holidays since her death had been hard; a fresh reminder of what he lost, what his kids were going to have to grow up without. She was the one that remembered to buy the birthday cakes, the one to wrap presents and buy Halloween costumes. John had discovered, like many aspects in his boys' lives, this was another one he was sorely lacking in. He needed to make it back on time, to prove to them and himself that he could be the parent they needed. He'd promised his boy he'd be home.

The Impala suddenly jerked hard to the left and John struggled to pull the wheel back. The back end of the car fishtailed before pulling the car into a spin. The world became a white hurricane as the car violently spun. The force of the spin pulled John hard against the door renewing the fire in his gut. His knuckles were white, gripping the wheel for all he was worth but the fight was futile.

The Impala hit the edge of the road, sliding into a snow drift. The car came to an abrupt halt, the impact smacking John's head against the steering wheel. He saw stars as his skull made contact, stunning him. Finally shaking off the haze, John peered out the window to see walls of white around him. The driver's side door was wedged in the snow, forcing him to crawl across the seat and out the passenger side door.

The frozen chill of then night stole his breath and made the warmth of the blood flowing from the cut on his forehead stand out in stark contrast. He looked at his situation with distain before limping to the trunk to retrieve his shovel. Painstakingly he fought with the snow, trying to free the back and front passenger tire from the snow. If he could clear enough to get tractions, he might be able to get the car out of this mess and back on the road.

He crawled back in and turned the engine. His foot pressed down on the gas. The tires spun furiously filling the silence of the night with the high pitched whirl. John grit his teeth, trying again. He switched the car into drive, trying to gain precious inches that might help the tires grab the road when he threw the car back in reverse. He tried again still noting.

Frustrated, John crawled back out of the car. It was hopeless, the Impala wasn't going anywhere without help and there was no one stupid enough to be out in a storm like that on a back country road on Christmas Eve.

He kicked at the pile of snow encased around the front side of his car letting out a frustrated growl. Hot tears stung his eyes as he slumped down leaning against the side of the vehicle. He just wanted to get back to his kids and even that couldn't go right. Of all the times for the universe to concentrate its unfairness on him, why did it have to be tonight? He hung his head as he thought of the disappointed looks on his sons' faces. John Winchester had let them down again.

* * *

Dean startled at Murphy's warm hand gripping his shoulder. The whole world had melted away except the view offered by the front room window. He tried to fight back the budding tears as he looked up at the Pastor.

Jim smiled warmly. "It's time to go to bed Dean."

Dean looked around the living room until he found Sam. The toddler was curled up asleep on the recliner, Santa watch still displayed on the TV. Going to bed felt like giving up, like letting the universe allow his father to break his promise.

"Santa's not going to come if you're up all night."

"What does it matter?" sighed Dean. What was the point when their father wasn't going to be home? Who was going to put the presents under the tree anyways? Were there any presents? Dean had given up on the idea of Santa when he learned that all the things parents told their children weren't real were in fact real. Santa certainly hadn't delivered on bringing his mom back and it looked like he wasn't going to deliver on letting John be home for Christmas either. "We're not going to have Christmas anyways."

"No more Santa?" mumbled Sam groggily, as he rubbed his eyes. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes he looked imploringly at his brother, as if Dean himself made the world turn.

Jim went over to the recliner and scooped the boy up in his arms. "Santa will be here, he just can't come when little boys are awake. That would ruin the magic," he soothed.

"Where's daddy?" asked Sam looking around. His little lip began to tremble before the tears started to fall. "I want daddy."

Dean forced a fake smile. "He's on his way, Sammy, don't worry." Dean felt like Sam looked and he wished there was no one around so he could bury his face in a pillow and cry out all his fears and frustration. Sam needed someone to tell him it was all going be okay and he was determined to make Sammy believe that until he absolutely had to tell him otherwise.

"Hey," chirped in Pastor Jim, trying to inject some joy into an otherwise gloomy situation. "I have an idea. Why don't you boys open one present each?" He looked at Sam who wiped his tears away with chubby little fists and nodded his head in agreement. Gently he put the toddler down and followed as Sam scrambled for the Christmas tree.

Sam picked up each present, examining them with a careful eye before giving them a shake. He couldn't read yet, the scribble on the name tags still a mystery but he Dean had spent an entire afternoon practicing the letter s and reviewing how only Sammy's name started with that letter. After examining everything he had forged a neat little pile of packages with the letter s on them.

"Dean, aren't you going to come and open a present?" asked Jim, noticing Dean had let to leave his self appointed post. If Murphy was being honest, he was getting a little worried too; John should have been back days ago or at least called by now. If there was no sign of the man by tomorrow, he'd give Singer a call and see if he could go take a look at the job, and find any trace of John.

"That's okay. I'll wait for dad." His voice was growing as weak as his moral. The snow was coming down so hard it was hard to even see the road anymore, not that it mattered much, vehicles had stopped passing by two hours ago. "If we ever see him again," he mumbled under his breath so Sam wouldn't hear.

Sam didn't hear, too wrapped up in the tearing of wrapping paper but Jim did. It was a knife in the gut, the prospect of having to tell those small boys they'd lost another parent. He silently prayed that he wouldn't have to. "Have a little faith Dean." It was the only reassurance he could offer.

"Look Dean!" cheered Sammy, proudly holding up a remote control truck.

"That's nice, Sammy."

Sam picked up another present this one with the letter d on it and toddled over to his brother. "Dean open." He shoved the gift at Dean.

Dean glanced at, feeling the burn of sadness gnaw at his throat. "No, Sammy, that's for dad. D-a-d spells dad not Dean." Sam looked crestfallen for a moment before making his way back to the Christmas tree. Not to be deterred he grabbed another d present and brought it over.

Dean spared a glance from his obsessive watching to see what his brother brought this time. "Good job Sammy, that one says Dean."

"Dean, open," he declared.

"Nah, you can open it for me."

Sam looked skeptical, shoving the small blue box back at Dean.

"It's okay, go ahead," insisted Dean. What he really wanted wasn't going to be found under the tree.

A small grin appeared on Sam's face as he began to tear into the blue paper. The paper didn't stand a chance, quickly revealing the pack of green army men inside. "Can we play Dean?" He eagerly held up the box.

"It's time for bed Sam, maybe tomorrow," answered Jim. Sam regretfully put the box back under the tree next to his truck and grabbed his stuffed bear off the couch. Taking Jim's waiting outstretched hand they head towards the stairs.

Dean let out a long sigh and slowly started to climb off the couch by the window. As he turned he caught a small flicker of movement through the snow. He turned to back to get a better look but only saw the vastness of white nothing. He rubbed his eyes, and tried again, not surprise when the only thing he found was disappointment. He caught another glimpse of something. Straining his eyes he tried to see through the snow. "Wait," he called.

Jim and Sam paused on the third step, turning to look at Dean.

"I think I see something," he whispered, too afraid to call too much attention in case it disappeared again.

"Is it Santa?" yelled Sam, scrambling to join his brother on the couch. He pressed his face tightly to the glass searching for the man in red out in the mess of white.

Slowly the blob of movement began to take shape. Dean's heart sped up as he recognized it as a person.

Jim had joined them at the window, staring in wonder with the boys. "Who would be out in a storm like this?"

"Santa?" chimed in Sam.

"Better, I think it's dad."

They watched intently as the figure came closer. As it reached the edge of the long driveway, Dean ran to the kitchen and threw open the side door. He stepped out on the step waiting. An eternity passed, and he began to wonder if he'd been wrong, if it was someone else wandering alone in the night and the stranger hadn't turned down the driveway. He shivered in the cold, about to give up when someone came around the corner of the house. "Dad?"

John looked up at his name whispered on the wind. He was frozen and covered in freshly fallen snow, capable of nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other. His singular focus had driven him the three hour walk to Jim's door. All the pain and numbness disappeared as he looked up and saw Dean standing out on the step. He was tired and he was done, but that sight gave him wings to fly the last couple of feet. "Dean."

"Dad!" cried Dean as he ran out in his sock covered feet to meet his dad.

John almost fell over with the force of Dean catapulting himself at him, but he managed to wrap the boy up in a tight hug anyways.

Sam came running out of the house. "Daddy's back." John scooped him up too, carrying both back into the warmth of the house.

"Good to see you John, glad you made it," greeted Jim, stepping out of the way.

John placed both boys on the kitchen table, give them one last squeeze to hide the grimace of pain that pulled at his face as his wound pinched and pulled uncomfortably from holding his precious charges. "I'm so glad to see you boys."

"You came back dad," said Dean, drinking in the sight of his father home, safe and sound. He was a little worse for wear, dried blood on the side of his face and holding himself a little rigid, but he was home.

"I promised, didn't I?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you know what else, I ran into this other guy outside and he asked me to give you these." John reached into his coat and pulled out a pound puppy, slightly wet. Sam lit up like a Christmas tree, his hands eagerly reaching out for the stuffed animal.

"From Santa?"

"From Santa," agreed John. Sam snatched the toy, giving it a deathly tight hug. He reached in his other pocket and pulled out the GI Joe figure.

"Thanks dad, but Santa already gave my present." Dean wrapped his arms around his father and refused to let go until John had both kids tucked into bed. It was the best Christmas either of them had had in a long time.


End file.
